


I Do

by msred



Series: Lessons [11]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Wedding Fluff, Weddings, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29546151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: They don’t get married ‘pandemic-style’ in someone’s backyard. They also don’t do it right away. But they do get to do it their way, maybe even a little better.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor) & Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Lessons [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019040
Comments: 22
Kudos: 38





	I Do

**_December 9-11, 2021_ **

They don’t get married ‘pandemic-style’ in someone’s backyard. They also don’t do it right away, opting for almost a full-year engagement. Even that decision, though, the one to have a fairly long engagement, is still in big part due to the pandemic; Chris had said from the beginning that he was fine with a backyard wedding, and she would have been good with that too, but they did both have short lists of people they really wanted present on the day, and with all of Chris’s Important People in Massachusetts and all of hers, well, not, even a backyard wedding would have meant asking people on one side or the other to travel, and they just weren’t comfortable doing that at any point during the first half of the year. So they planned for December, hoping even while scared to do so that by then it would be safe to ask their relatively small number of guests to travel to be with them as they committed themselves legally and officially to one another, and agreeing that if that  _ wasn’t  _ the case, they really would do things pandemic-style, not even in a backyard, maybe, but just at home with an officiant and two witnesses, just so that they would be  _ married _ . The bigger wedding and the reception could come later, if necessary. (She does move in with him in the summer, using every spare second in the last few weeks of school to go through her townhouse and pack up the things she wants to keep and make plans to sell or donate everything else so that she can be officially sharing his home within one week of school ending.)

They still don’t have a big wedding, though. It may look that way, at a first glance at the wedding photos later, since the wedding party consists of six attendants on either side, but the members of the wedding party and their own partners and plus ones make up about 50% of the entire guest list. Speaking of the wedding party, she doesn’t actually end up making Abby her maid of honor, going with Shanna instead, but she does make her and the other four kids - who aren’t kids anymore at all, but 20 and 21-year-old third-year college students - bridesmaids ( _ Bride’s man, thank you very much _ , in the case of Wayne) and since she’d never actually said the maid of honor thing  _ to  _ Abby, only to Chris in the aftermath of his proposal, the girl is more than thrilled with the arrangement. Scott is the best man, of course, accompanied by Chris’s business partner Mark, his childhood buddy Josh, Carly and her husband, and Tara as groomsmen and women. They’d talked, at points, about Wayne standing on Chris’s side and Carly and Tara standing with Her, and both had been willing, happy even, to have one or two of the other’s Most Important People standing at their sides, but ultimately they’d decided that all the hassle of switching sides and trying to keep numbers balanced wasn’t worth it just to adhere to traditional gender roles within the wedding party.

So. They’d decided there would be an actual wedding, hopefully, and the  _ when  _ had been fairly easy to settle on, as had the  _ who  _ of those directly involved in the ceremony. All that was left was the  _ where.  _ It hadn’t seemed fair to have the wedding on either of their ‘home turfs,’ forcing just one set of loved ones to travel roughly a thousand miles one-way. They didn’t want to go over the top with the whole destination wedding thing, though, because that would have meant a lot of really expensive travel for everyone involved and a lot more extravagance than either of them wanted. It seemed worse, in a lot of ways, than asking everyone from one side or the other to travel to one of their home areas. 

The venue they’d ultimately chosen in Northern Virginia was far from being a mid-point; it was much closer to her family and closest friends than to his, but he didn’t mind that at all. It would have been okay with him, really, if they’d just done it in the town where she’d been living in Coastal Virginia, or in Kentucky, near her mom and where she’d grown up. It wouldn’t have been a burden on his family, and even if it had, he’d have helped them out. Hell, Chris would’ve happily footed the bill for everyone’s travel expenses, her family and friends as well as his, wherever they’d done it, if she’d have let him, but he knew better than to even suggest it. There was no way she would be okay with something that wasn’t at least partially ‘fair.’

It was all for the best though, because they found an adorable inn on acres and acres of apple orchard with enough rooms in the main building for the wedding party and enough small cottages for all the guests. (She’d been scared by the set-up at first, adamant that they couldn’t get married on a former plantation. But while the land may well have belonged to a plantation at some point in history - you’d be hard pressed to find any land in Virginia that hadn’t - the current orchard had been in existence since the early 1900s, and the inn had been added a few decades later, with the cottages being an even more recent addition once the inn had really taken off and they’d needed more rooms.) It isn’t strictly a wedding venue, but they do regularly host weddings and other events, and if the pictures are anything to go by, they’re incredibly good at it.

The event coordinator for the inn (and therefore their wedding planner), Diane, had been thrilled when they’d shown up in the spring and said they were planning a December wedding, gushing that Christmas was her favorite time on the property and telling them all about the many live trees that get set up each year in the inn and the cottages and decorated with heirloom ornaments, and the cider that’s mulled on site using, of course, the orchard’s own apples. She must have picked up on something, noticed some hesitation, because she stopped short in her rave of the smell of the natural garland combined with the wood fireplaces and said,  _ What’s wrong? What don’t you like and how can I fix it?  _

Chris had just raised an eyebrow and nudged Her with his shoulder and she’d finally sighed heavily and told the coordinator,  _ I kind of hate red,  _ and when Diane asked what she wanted instead, she told her,  _ I always imagined shades of blue, with ivory and silver, for a winter wedding. But I don’t want to interfere with the Christmas decorations or cause any trouble, so it’ll be fine.  _ Diane had laughed and said that there were people whose job it was, literally, to maintain the Christmas decorations and that they’d be more than happy to make sure that anything within eyeline (or camera-line) of the ceremony or reception was exactly to their taste for the weekend. From that point on it had been smooth sailing.

Until now. Because they’ve just gotten off the interstate after leaving the airport in their rental car and are heading down the county roads toward the inn, and She realizes she’s only been here in the spring and summer. Now it’s December, and everything is cold and bare and gray. What were once gorgeous, blossoming apple trees are going to be stark skeletons of what they were the last time she saw them, and that’s going to be the backdrop for their entire wedding. 

“Indulge me for a second?” She says when they roll to a stop at a light.

Smirking, he turns toward her and asks, “When do I not?”

“Ha ha.” She makes a show of rolling her eyes, but she knows he’s right. Even when he follows it up by bringing her back to earth, he always hears her out, never acts like she’s being silly or frivolous or melodramatic. That unbridled support and validation is just one of the many reasons she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. “Okay but really though, can I cash in my one-time-only Bridezilla card?”

“Oh, is that a thing we’re doing?”

“It is now.”

“Then fire away.”

“Okay,” she sighs, “I promise I’ll go back to being totally chill and laid-back after this,” he looks over at her with one eyebrow pulled high up onto his forehead and she swats his bicep with the back of her hand. “Stop. You know I’ve been a pretty low-maintenance bride.”

“You have, you have. It’s just really fun to give you shit.”

“Mmhmm. Anyway, I love our low-key, intimate wedding plans. I really do. This is  _ exactly  _ the wedding I want and I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything bigger or fancier or more elaborate or anything like that.”

“But.”

“But, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but it’s not going to look anything like it did when we came in the spring, or when the girls and I came in the summer. It was gorgeous then, but now the trees are going to be all bare and gray and cold-looking. I just hate that that’s what our friends and family are going to see as they arrive at our wedding. It feels … impersonal.”

It’s almost like she can see him thinking, his eyes a little narrowed, head nodding almost imperceptibly, lips pursed, and when they come to another stop light, right after he switches on the blinker, he turns and says, “I get that. I do.” He reaches across the distance between them and tucks her hair behind her ear. “But first of all, they’re professionals, I’m sure they know what they’re doing and it will still look just fine. And second of all,” he’s twisted the lock of hair around his finger and he gives it a little tug, “the last thing anyone could ever accuse you of being is  _ impersonal _ . Cold, bare trees or not, everyone will feel warm and loved because that’s just the effect you have on people.” 

Cheeks burning and heart fluttering, she ducks her head a little and says, “Thank you.” Then, “Green light.” He flicks his wrist to pull her hair again, then puts his hand back on the wheel to turn them onto the smaller, country road that will take them directly to the inn.

They’re both quiet as he maneuvers them along the narrow, curvy road, up and up into the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, sharing a peaceful, companionable silence that is anything but awkward. That’s another reason she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. She’s always been one of those people who feels like she has to fill every moment, that any silence is awkward and that it’s her responsibility to fix that awkwardness. It’s not like that with him. Yes, they can spend hours talking about anything and everything and nothing. But they sometimes spend just as much time saying nothing at all, and she never feels like it’s because she’s done something wrong or that the reason for the silence is that he’s upset with her. They can just _be_ together and it’s enough for both of them to feel easy, relaxed, content.

At some point he reaches across the console to wrap her hand up in his and lift it to his lips to kiss her knuckles and she shifts in the seat, turning so that she sits mostly on her hip and tucking her feet up next to her to lean over and drop her head to his shoulder. The position is a little awkward, and the seat belt buckle is digging into her hip, but he hums and drops the side of his head over onto the top of hers and she wouldn’t consider moving for the world. 

They round a bend in the road and a house ahead of them has its Christmas lights on and it’s only then that she realizes how dark it already is. It’s not all that late, not even dinner time, but it’s December and they’re pretty far away from any real ‘civilization,’ so it feels much later than it really is. Her eyes fall to the clock on the dash of the rented car and butterflies take flight throughout her entire body when she realizes it’s almost exactly 48 hours until she walks down the aisle to meet the man at her side and become his wife. And at that same moment, Chris turns onto the long drive that will carry them past rows and rows of apple trees to the front porch of the inn. She shivers. 

“You cold?” He turns and looks down at her as the car crawls up the hard packed dirt lane. “We’re almost there,” he says without waiting for her response, kissing the crown of her head and turning his eyes forward again, “I’m sure it’ll be nice and cozy inside.”

“No,” she corrects him, sitting up straight and fidgeting in her seat, “I’m just excited.” Then, when she’s about to tell him that she’s also really glad they decided to come a day earlier than the wedding party, two days earlier than the guests and the actual wedding itself, she gasps. “Chris,” she almost sighs, her voice full of wonder.

“I know, I see it sweetheart.” 

Starting about halfway up the drive, the trees are decorated with small white Christmas lights, every branch of the first tree in each row seemingly wrapped meticulously in strands of tiny lights that she swears shimmer in the dusky near-dark. “It’s gorgeous. Now I feel bad.”

He chuckles. “Of course you do.” She pouts as she jabs her elbow into his ribs and he laughs a little harder. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell on you.”

A handful of hours later, after checking in and sitting down for dinner and wine and then spiked cider with Diane and double-checking all the plans for the next two days, they lie cuddled together under the flannel sheets and fluffy comforter and Chris trails his hand up and down her bare side while she traces tattoos she can’t actually see and she remembers what she had been about to say in the car. “I’m glad we came down early,” she tells him, her breath wisping out over his chest where her head rests on his shoulder. “That we have this time just the two of us.”

“Me too,” he agrees, his voice mischievous and his hand slipping down to grab her bare butt.

“Oh stop. We can do that anywhere.” She groans when he makes a sound that implies he plans to test that declaration, but really, a hotel room with friends and family members just down the hall wouldn’t crack the Top 10 of borderline inappropriate times or places they’ve had sex. (Top honors for that go to the tiny laundry room - laundry closet, really - in her mom’s apartment when he’d surprised her there their first Christmas together. They’d been sharing a sofa bed for two days without being able to touch each other the way they really wanted to and they’d snuck off while her mom was in the shower, turning on the dryer as Chris hoisted her up on top of it, one of his hands slipping between their bodies as he slid into her and the other pressing over her mouth to muffle any sounds she might make that wouldn’t be covered by the noise of the machine.) “It’s just nice to have one night to just kind of take it all in, just the two of us. I know the next couple days will be hectic and busy and I’ll probably get really stressed, even though I know we’ll be surrounded by people who just want to help me, and it’s not even going to be that big of a wedding anyway.” He laughs at that, his chest rumbling and her head moving with it. “So I’m glad we get to have tonight and tomorrow morning to take everything in, to appreciate it all, before everything really gets going.”

“That is nice,” he agrees, and the thickness in his voice tells her he’ll be asleep soon, so she shifts around until she finds a position she’ll be able to fall asleep in, closing her eyes and forcing her mind to focus on the feel of the pads of his fingers as they drift over her skin.

***

“No,” Chris whines, pouting and stomping one foot and tugging her closer, “I don’t wanna.”

“Dude,” Scott snaps, “the poor woman is about to to be stuck with you for the rest of her life, give her a break.”

They’ve all been in the inn’s dining room, She and Chris and the whole wedding party, first for the rehearsal dinner, then just standing around talking, but not long ago everyone started heading off to their own rooms (or in the case of Carly’s family and Mrs. Evans, their own little cottage) for the night. Most everyone has dissipated by this point, and the only people left are She and Chris, Scott and his boyfriend, and Shanna and hers, with whom She and Chris are doing a roommate swap for the night, less because of some wedding tradition and more because it will make things easier for her to not have to kick Chris out of their suite in the morning so that she and the female members of the wedding party (and Wayne, who refuses to be separated from his ‘sisters’ in favor of hanging out with a bunch of men he doesn’t know,  _ even if most of them are stupid hot _ ) can get ready in there. 

She turns, stepping out of the circle of Chris’s arm, and reaches to smack the back of Scott’s head. “Be nice to your brother, he’s very vulnerable right now.” Chris turns his pout up from about a seven to a 10 and adds in puppy dog eyes for additional effect. Scott only rolls his own eyes and waves them off as he heads for the stairs, his boyfriend waving back at them as he follows him up. Chris can barely contain himself until Scott’s out of earshot before he’s laughing. “You’re lucky I love you,” she tells him, shaking her head as he continues to laugh.

“Mmm, lucky was last night. You won’t let me get lucky tonight.”

“Oh my God.” Groaning, she pushes a palm against his chest. He doesn’t budge, instead closing a hand over hers to hold it over his heart.

Shanna chimes in then from the foot of the stairs. “And on that note, we’re gonna head up. I’ll see you in a few minutes?” She nods and waves at Shanna and her boyfriend as they head up, Shanna to the suite She and Chris had shared the night before and will share again the next night, after the wedding, and her boyfriend back to the room that’s actually reserved for them, where he and Chris will be roommates for the night.

Chris’s free hand finds the small of her back and he ducks his head to press his forehead to hers. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Well, this is it, Pretty Girl. After we say good night, the next time we’re going to see each other will be out there,” he nods in the general direction of the big white building just beside the inn where the ceremony will be held the next evening, a cross between an old-fashioned barn and a greenhouse, with its high gable roof and walls made up almost entirely of windows that provide a panoramic view of the gorgeous grounds (and they really have managed to make it even more beautiful in the winter, somehow). “Any second thoughts?”

“Less than zero. You?”

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for this, for you. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.” 

She pushes up onto her toes and presses her lips to his, freezing there for a moment. It’s unlike most of their kisses, no heat, no urgency, no movement at all, almost, just their lips pressed tenderly together as they share each other’s space, each other’s breath, their hearts beating in complementary rhythms. He squeezes her hand under his just before pulling away, eyes still closed, then kisses her forehead and takes half a step back. 

“I love you,” she whispers and reaches up to wipe lip gloss from just below his bottom lip with her thumb. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

***

Chris stands at the window in his sister’s and her boyfriend’s room, where he and the rest of the guys are getting dressed, and watches the flurries fall, clinging tentatively to bare tree branches. Already though, he can tell a difference in the size and number of the flakes just since they started half an hour ago. He wouldn’t be surprised if the ground is totally covered by the time the ceremony starts.

He senses a presence at his side, and he knows it’s Scott without turning to look. “Uh oh,” his brother says.

“Hmm?”

“Is she gonna be upset about the snow?”

“Nah,” Chris answers, shaking his head and grinning as he watches one of his nephews dart out the front door of the cottage Carly’s family is staying in, which he can just see from his vantage point, and turn his face up to the sky, mouth open. He nudges Scott with his elbow and points at the boy. “The planner came in a little bit ago and let me know all the guests are here, so the snow’s not gonna keep anybody from getting here. That would’ve been the only thing she would’ve gotten upset about.”

He doesn’t tell Scott the rest though, which is that she’ll probably actually be thrilled. She’s been telling him for almost the past year, since the day he proposed, that she didn’t need or want some big, fancy wedding. And he knows she means it, that she’s not just saying it because she thinks it will be easier or because she thinks it’s what he wants or even because they had planned it all knowing there was a chance they might still be under Covid restrictions. But he also knows that she loves the snow, and that she’d gotten more excited than she wanted to let on when she saw how many trees had been adorned with lights when they’d arrived a couple evenings ago, and that the snow will only make the site even more beautiful. Honestly, it’s going to make the whole thing look like a fairy tale, he thinks, and he loves that for her. He doesn’t hate it for himself either, the sentimental, romantic streak inside him filling with something warm and happy at the thought, but honestly, all he  _ really  _ wants out of today is for her to be happy, to have exactly what she wants. And while she never said she wanted snow, he knows his girl well enough to know that she’s going to be ecstatic.

He watches for a few more minutes, until he sees the now-fat flakes starting to stick on the ground and not just the trees, then turns away from the window to start getting into his suit, his hair and beard tidied up and lightly styled since he got out of the shower. He’s got his suit pants on, the sweats he’d been wearing tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair, and his shirt on and mostly buttoned with his tie hanging open around his neck when there’s a knock at the door. The floor falls out from under him a little when, after a second of quiet speaking that he doesn’t fully catch, Mark calls his name and he looks over his shoulder to see Wayne in the doorway looking at him with wide eyes.

“What’s up?” Chris asks, trying not to sound panicked. 

Wayne’s eyes dart around like he’s too afraid to come into the room, “Umm, I was told to come get you. Please.”

He feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. When he looks around and doesn’t immediately spot his shoes - or rather, when he sees all their shoes grouped together across the room and decides that he doesn’t want to take the time to figure out which ones are his - he thinks  _ fuck it  _ and makes a beeline to Wayne in his socks. He doesn’t say anything to anyone else, just brushing past Mark and pulling the door closed behind him as he steps into the hall, Wayne backing up timidly as he does. “Where are we going?” Chris asks.

“Umm, I’m going back to the room.” Wayne continues backing down the hall as Chris keeps him fixed in his gaze. “I’m supposed to send you downstairs.”

Without saying anything, Chris turns and heads for the stairs. From the landing he can see Her below him in the cozy sitting area to the right of the inn’s front door, standing next to the fireplace, a Christmas tree on her other side, with her back to the stairs as she looks out the window. He all but runs down the stairs, calling out, “Babe? What’s wrong?” as soon as both feet hit the floor. When she turns to look at him over her shoulder she’s smiling softly and he stops in his tracks. “Wow,” he breathes. She’s not wearing all that much makeup, nothing drastically different from a typical date night or evening out with her friends or his sisters, but he swears she’s glowing, her skin bright and her eyes shining. And her hair is down, mostly, pinned back away from her face and falling in soft waves around her shoulders. He resists the urge to run his hands through it, let the silky strands slip through his fingers as he combs it back, and forces himself to cross the room at a slow, measured pace.

“Hi,” she responds, her smile growing a little wider as she turns to face him fully, playing with the ends of the sash holding her silk robe closed. “Nothing’s wrong, I just,” she drops her head to look down at her feet then glances up at him through her eyelashes, “I missed you.”

“Yeah?” He smirks a little as he reaches for her hips and pulls her close, her slippered feet slotting between his socked ones. 

Her hands reach for either side of his tie, rubbing the silk between the thumbs and forefingers of each hand where it hangs open around his neck, and she nods. “I love them all, but it was getting a little  _ crowded _ in there. A little loud, and chaotic. I just needed a minute of peace. And I wanted to spend it with you.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he bends and kisses the top of her head carefully. He doesn’t think she’s wearing a lot of makeup, but he’s not going to push his luck by putting his lips anywhere on her face and risking getting in trouble. Not yet anyway. After the ceremony and the official pictures, all bets are off. “You can have all the minutes you want from me. That’s kinda the point of this whole day.” And then he doesn’t worry about the makeup anymore, because she tugs on his tie, pulling him down to press her lips to his. He slides his hands slowly up and down her sides over her robe as he sips at her lips, one quick, gentle little peck after another. Finally she presses her mouth against his just a little more firmly before pulling away and taking a step back.

The window is like a beacon calling her back. He keeps his hands on her waist as she turns, and when she has her back to his chest, she puts her hands over his and steps back to the glass, bringing him with her. “It’s snowing,” she tells him as he settles his chin on the top of her head. He can hear the smile in her voice.

“I know,” he whispers back. His heart swells a little with pride because he  _ knew  _ she’d be happy about it. “It’s pretty. It’ll be even more beautiful later, with the ground covered.”

She hums her agreement. “Diane came and talked to me,” she tells him, “and she promised that the snow won’t affect the space heaters in the reception tent and that if the wind picks up they’ll put the sides on it. They’re going to try to avoid that though, so they don’t block the view.”

“That sounds good.” 

“The lights on the trees should be fine too, she said. And they’re already salting a path to the area where the photographer had planned to take some pictures outside in front of the trees, so we’ll get some really beautiful outdoor shots without having to get all wet and soggy on the way there. She even said they were going to put up a cute sign during the reception pointing people in that direction in case they want to go out and take some pictures of their own.”

“Seems like she’s thought of everything.” He slides his hands across her lower abdomen until his arms are wrapped around her, holding her against his chest.

A full minute passes with neither of them saying anything, just watching the snow fall in that comfortable silence they’ve mastered. When she does speak again it’s so quiet that even if they hadn’t been alone, no one would be able to hear it but him. “I didn’t need any of this, you know? I just wanted to marry you. That’s more than I could ever have dreamed to hope for in the world, and it wouldn’t have mattered how we did it. But this is perfect,  _ so  _ perfect.”

“Well,” he ducks his head to kiss her temple then speaks with his lips right next to her ear, “I can’t take credit for the snow, or really any of the wedding planning, but I’m happy that you’re happy. That’s all I want.”

They kiss again, his arms wrapped around her from behind and one of her hands lifted to cradle his cheek, and when they part she sighs heavily and tells him, “Okay, I should probably go finish getting ready now.”

“Wait, you’re not ready?” he teases.

“While walking down the aisle in a robe and slippers does sound tempting, I need to put my dress on now so you can take it off of me later.”

Head shaking and eyes narrowed, he pinches her hip then unwinds himself from around her and swats at her butt. “Go get dressed, troublemaker. I’ll see you on the other side.”

“See you on the other side.” She’s grinning when she throws a wink over her shoulder before stepping around him and heading up the stairs.

There are no more surprises after that, no more deviations from the plan, and the next time he sees her is just after his baby sister has taken her place directly across from him and the music changes and he follows every other head in the room as they all turn toward the doors at the back. And then the whole world fades away and all he can see is her, hair cascading down around her bare shoulders, the wide straps of her ivory dress hanging off them and looping delicately around her biceps, hands curled around a bundle of gardenias and evergreen sprigs. The heavy satin fabric flows over her curves (she calls it forgiving, says it hides her ‘imperfections;’ he says she doesn’t have any) and hangs just long enough that it pools around her feet when she stands still but doesn’t trip her up as she walks, and the snow sparkles blue-white behind her in the fading light. She looks like the princess in that fairy tale scenario he’d first thought of when he saw the snow, like an angel, some modern day goddess of kindness and light, except better, because she’s real. She’s real and she chose him. 

He knows there was more to the ceremony, that the officiant made some sort of eloquent introduction, that Tara and Braylen read a passage and a poem, respectively, that were significant and important to both himself and his bride, but if you ask him, whether it’s the second it’s all over, or next week, or next year, he’ll say that one second she was handing her bouquet over to Shanna and slipping her hands into his, and the next, the officiant was saying his name, prompting him to recite the vows he wrote. 

He takes a deep breath and allows himself just one second to wonder what on earth he was thinking, letting her talk him into them writing their own vows rather than reciting the traditional ones. Sure, he’s the performer of the two of them, and his acting experience is great for memorizing the vows he wrote and feeling confident that he’ll deliver them well, but she’s the one with the magic way with words and he’s less confident that what he wrote will come anywhere near living up to whatever she wrote. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter what he says, as long as he stands here and promises to love her, to cherish her, to protect and be faithful to her for the rest of his life, and that’s something he can do in his sleep. So he pushes the air out of his lungs, squeezes her hands in his, and lets the words go.

“ _ For as long as I’ve understood what a relationship is, what it should be, I’ve known that I wanted a wife who would be my partner. Someone who has the same views on life and the world that I do, but who’s also willing to push me, to challenge me, to call me out when my ego and my baser instincts get the better of me. Not only are you all of those things, you’re strong, and smart, and kind, and too beautiful for this world, head to toe, inside and out. I’ve never once, not for a second, fooled myself into believing that I deserve you or pretended to understand why you chose me. All I know is that you did, and that I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life. Right now, in front of our friends and family and in the eyes of the law, I vow to spend the rest of my life trying, and probably failing, but trying nonetheless, to to be worthy of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. Because you are the partner I’ve always wanted.” _

She sniffles and he chuckles loud enough for just her and maybe Scott to hear as he reaches to catch a tear on his thumb before it falls from her lower lashes. She turns her face ever so slightly into his hand and he winks, and and that’s all there’s time for before the officiant is turning to her, prompting her to say her own vows. She takes a shaky breath and he nods, he hopes, encouragingly, and mouths a quick  _ You got this  _ before she starts, earning him a grin and a nose-wrinkle.

“ _ Chris. Three years ago, I was happy. I had my dream job, amazing friends, and a family - biological and chosen - who I adored. Two and a half years ago, I took five high school seniors on a theatre trip to Boston, where they insisted on visiting a tiny youth theatre in the suburbs, hoping against hope for an off-chance to meet a movie star, which we somehow did. And two years ago, more, actually, I realized I hadn’t actually been happy before, not ever, not the way I’ve been since that day in Concord when five meddling teenagers brought you into my life. Every moment of every day in those two and a half years, you’ve brought beauty and peace and joy into my life that I didn’t even know were missing. So on this day, in front of the rest of the people I love most in this world, I promise you that today, tomorrow, and for the rest of our lives, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, as we build our life together, I’m going to do everything I possibly can to make you just as happy as you have made me.” _

And fuck, yeah, he was right to be nervous, intimidated, because her words are beautiful and perfect and now she’s the one reaching across the space between them to wipe tears from under his eyes. Then, just like before, time seems to jump again, because it’s as if he blinks and he’s being told to kiss his wife. Unlike with the vows, though, there’s no hesitation whatsoever. He surges forward and his palms fly to her cheeks, fingers slipping into her hair the way they’ve been itching to do since earlier in the afternoon. He feels his jacket pull tight across his back as she grabs the seams at the sides and holds him tight. There’s no tongue, both of them mindful of their audience, but it’s not exactly completely G-rated either, his lips massaging and plucking at hers, drawing her bottom one between his and pulling a little before he backs away for a breath then goes right back in for a second kiss, much to the amusement of their guests.

Much later, after hours of eating and drinking, laughing and dancing, with their guests, the newly married couple sits, postures slumped and legs stretched long in front of them, in a pair of chairs pulled to a far corner of the reception tent, choosing to slip into the shadows rather than take back up their designated spots at the head table. “Are you happy?” Chris asks as he supports the weight of her body against his, her head on his shoulder and her face pressed to his neck as he holds her close, his hand now fully buried in her hair and his fingers massaging the back of her scalp.

She tilts her face up to press a kiss under his jaw, just where his beard stops. “Indescribably,” she murmurs against his skin so that he can barely hear her over the music.

“Is there anything at all you would do differently about today, if you had the chance? Anything that could have gone better?”

One hand on his chest and one on his side, she pushes herself up and away from him until she can look him in the eye. Her expression is so sincere it almost hurts him to look at. “You’re my husband. What could be better than that?”

He pulls her in with the hand still at the back of her head and kisses her the way he wouldn’t with all their friends and family watching, his lips working hers open so that his tongue can dance across hers.

The kiss sends a chill down her spine and she shivers against him. It still hasn’t fully sunk in to her that it’s all real, that they’re married, that she’s his and he’s hers, not just in their own minds, as they have been for so long already, but in the eyes of the law and everyone else. It’s starting to, though, now that the night’s almost over and she no longer feels like they’re putting on a show for their guests, now that her shoes have been kicked off and he’s shed his suit jacket and loosened his tie and the top button of his dress shirt. 

He presses one more soft kiss to her lips then pulls back. “You cold?” he asks, his free hand sliding up and down the outside of her arm. She shakes her head ‘no,’ but she also moves closer to him, wrapping her arm around his waist and tucking herself against his side, yawning as she settles in. “Tired?”

She nods then. “Yeah, tired. And also suddenly very conscious of the fact that it’s our wedding night.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows arch sharply as he looks down at her. She nods again then angles her head to press her lips to his neck, and the kiss is so warm, and a little wet as she parts her lips to let her tongue taste his skin. Without him making a conscious decision to do so, his hand tightens in her hair, pulling lightly, and when she looks back up at him with hungry eyes, he smirks. “Then I guess we’d better get you to bed so we can address both of those things.” She nods, and he wonders idly if she even realizes her tongue has darted out to wet her lips. “Irish goodbye?”

She’s already standing, nodding, when she echoes, “Irish goodbye.” Normally she would have some pretty serious reservations about leaving her own party without saying goodbye to her guests, not because she wants to be one of the last people at the party, but because it doesn’t fit with her sense of hospitality and good manners and just general people pleasing. These are special circumstances, though. For one thing, she’ll see them all again in the morning for brunch, before she and Chris head off for the airport. But for another, and more importantly, as far as she’s concerned right now, she’s almost desperate to be alone with her husband.

Chris turns and pulls his jacket off the back of his chair and he drapes it over her shoulders when he’s standing next to her - she said she wasn’t cold, but they do have to leave the tent and walk a few yards in the open air, the snow no longer falling but the temperature still below freezing, to get back to the main building, and her dress covers a lot less of her upper body than his dress shirt does his. On top of that, he’s always liked the way she looks in his clothes, and something about his midnight blue jacket over her ivory dress, the way the neckline follows the curve of her breasts, dipping to a slight, gentle V right in the center and leaving her upper chest and her collarbones and her graceful neck exposed between the lapels of the jacket, just  _ works _ for him. He wants to grab the lapels and haul her against him, but he makes himself wait, knowing the payoff will be so much better once they’re in their suite. So instead, he curls an arm around her back, settling his hand on her hip, and starts to walk them toward the side of the tent closest to the inn. 

At this point, everyone else is too busy dancing or drinking, too tired or too intoxicated, to notice them making their exit. Everyone except Abby, who’s standing directly opposite them on the other side of the tent watching with a mixture of judgement and affection as Wayne tries to teach her boyfriend a dance move that he just can’t seem to master, Wayne’s hands clamped over the other man’s hips as he tries to move them to a rhythm that seems unrecognizable to Abby’s boyfriend. She looks away from the pair to make direct eye contact with Chris. She clearly makes note of what they’re doing, the fact that they’re slipping away, because her eyes dart between the two of them then the inn in the distance, then she nods almost imperceptibly and gives him a salute that he thinks is less a reference to Cap and more an acknowledgement that she trusts him to take care of a woman who has become like a mother to her over the years. It feels right, like a full-circle moment, when he thinks about how she ran interference for them that very first night, outside the theatre in Boston. And when he nods back before resting his cheek on his wife’s head as he walks her away from the crowd and toward the peace and the privacy of their room, he thinks to himself that he’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure he doesn’t let Abby down.


End file.
